


Things Still Suck

by maycollins



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series), Fantasy High
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23380675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maycollins/pseuds/maycollins
Summary: Sometimes, you win the epic battle, defeat the evil dragon, and at the end of it all, things still suck. But sometimes, your (not) best friend is there to help you through it.Self indulgent Fabriz emotional hurt/comfort.
Relationships: Riz Gukgak & Fabian Aramais Seacaster, Riz Gukgak/Fabian Aramais Seacaster
Comments: 4
Kudos: 171





	Things Still Suck

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be the very beginning of a whole long fic, but then I remembered I have two unfinished long fics in other fandoms that I should finish before starting a new one, so instead, a one shot.

Fabian Aramais Seacaster listens to the maidens slashing and stabbing at the dragon in the gymnasium through the thin doors separating it from the hallway which do little to muffle the noise, but somehow it still sounds distant, as if he’s far away from it all, or listening from under water. 

His friends’ triumphant conversation around him is similarly warped, though it has no doorway to blame. Perhaps, he thinks, it is the adrenaline and rush of battle. Perhaps this sinking feeling is the effect and proof of his heroics.

Perhaps he should sit down before he faints.

No one seems to notice as he slides down the wall to sit against it, lets his father’s sword clatter against the linoleum floor, brings his knees to his chest and rests his head on them, closes his eyes and tries to remember how to breathe.

After a few moments, a voice rips through his daze, and he turns to see The Ball, having broken off from the group to stare down at him.

“Crazy fight, wasn’t it?” the goblin asks, manic edge only beginning to fade from his voice.

“Oh, indeed. Stopping time. Killing Kalvaxis. Cutting off Dane’s hand. All perfect material for the history books.” He tries to put on his usual bravado, but somewhere, it seems to fall flat.

The Ball gives him a careful look like he’s trying to read Fabian’s emotions through his face, though Fabian isn’t even sure himself what he’s feeling. Whatever he finds seems to be enough to make him sit on the cold tiles next to Fabian, leaving a few inches carefully between them, and stare forward as if studying the poster on the wall calling for drama club auditions.

“I thought it would feel better than this,” The Ball says slowly, like he’s trying to tease out Fabian’s reaction. “Killing the guy who killed my dad, solving the case, defeating the Big Bad.”

“Hmmm,” Fabian hums, unwilling to commit to a response.

“But the people Kalvaxis killed are still dead, and the things that sucked before still suck.”

“And some new things suck,” Fabian adds, thinking of the way his sword slid through his papa’s chest as the life faded from his eye, feeling the phantom resistance of the muscle he had to push through to get to his papa’s heart, studying his still bloody hands with his only eye.

If he’d just made it home sooner, had gone to save his papa before his mother, had been strong enough to push the beam off him or dexterous enough to avoid it landing on him in the first place…

If Fabian had just been a better hero, his papa would be greeting him here, like Sandralyn and Gilear and the Thistlesprings are doing now with their children, would put a distant yet comforting hand on his shoulder and tell him how he’s written his name on the face of the world by slaying Kalvaxis, would take him home to drink and celebrate and sing sea chanteys. If Fabian had been better, his papa would still be alive.

He tries desperately to even his breath, willing himself  _ not to cry.  _ Not now, while his friends are celebrating right in front of him. Not here, where anyone can see. Preferably never, but especially not here and now. 

It doesn’t seem to be working as he sucks in a ragged breath and stares at the ceiling so the gravity will keep the tears from falling.

“Let’s go outside,” The Ball suggests with a nonchalance that Fabian can tell is fake. “It smells like blood in here, and all of the dragon fire’s made it too warm.”

“What a good idea, The Ball,” he says shakily because despite all his efforts, he  _ is _ crying, and he needs to get out of here before anyone else notices.

“I’m going outside for air, and Fabian is coming with me in case there’s danger,” The Ball says loudly as Fabian pushes through the doors to the bloodrush field. “But I want to be alone, so you guys stay in here.”

“You’re a terrible liar, The Ball,” Fabian says weakly, making his way to the bleachers.

“But a better liar than any of them are at detecting lies,” The Ball points out. “I figured you wanted to get out discreetly.”

Fabian shrugs as he slumps onto the bottom row of the bleachers. He can feel a sob rising in him, cracking his chest apart, and he knows there are only seconds until it erupts.

“I’m okay, The Ball. You can go,” he says, trying for cool and distant, yet landing somewhere in the realm of desperate and needy.

The Ball settles next to him so their thighs press together at the sides and says, “I get it man, the whole ‘I’m cool and popular and no one is allowed to know I have feelings’ thing, but I’m not going to leave you alone right now.” He reaches up to grip Fabian’s shoulder, his hand small and wiry, his clawlike nails just grazing the edge of Fabian’s jacket.

Apparently that’s all it takes for Fabian to burst into full on hysterics, tears racing down his cheeks, the salt stinging his still open wounds, and breaths coming in sharp gasps as his world spirals and spirals and spirals.

His papa is dead.

It’s because Fabian wasn’t good enough to save him.

His papa is dead.

Fabian wasn’t good enough to save him.

At some point The Ball shifts so his arms are wrapped all the way around Fabian, and Fabian buries his head in the crook of The Ball’s neck, and even though The Ball is so much smaller, and objectively weaker than he is, Fabian feels safe and protected like this.

He cries until he runs out of tears, and The Ball’s gentle fingers carding through his hair calm his racing heart, then pulling away, mumbles out an awkward thanks.

The Ball’s grin stretches his whole face, making it shine in a way that triggers an unfamiliar fluttering in Fabian’s stomach, as he says, “Hey, that’s what best friends are for.”

Fabian rolls his eyes, but this once, he doesn’t disagree.


End file.
